Ephemeral (The Countenance) (18 page)

There’s something familiar about him, and not in the “I’ve seen you in Kansas” or “in my dreams” kind of way, just something oddly serene that puts me at ease. Although, I don’t get why he’s accusing me of being a part of some inner circle. I find the idea of me being in the know on anything around here absurd at the moment.

The bell rings again and bodies suction into the nearest classrooms, exposing a dull glare on the pale, stone floors.

Dark-lacquered wood arches in rows all the way down this magnificently long hall. It makes it feel like we’re standing in the skeleton of some enormous prehistoric creature, a land mammal, or a whale. I’ve become Jonah waiting for the monster to vomit me back into Kansas. I’ll stop running from God, if he’ll stop hiding from me.

“Nobody goes in those woods. I’m warning you not to do it, Laken.” My body electrifies in a trail of goose bumps as he whispers my name. “Casper wouldn’t have gone in unless she felt a need.”

“Maybe it was a shortcut?”

“More like a maze,” he counters.

“So why do you think she went in?” There’s an urgency in my voice. On some level I believe he has all the answers.

Cooper takes a step back, scours the vicinity with his ashen eyes. “She was lured.”

“Lured? By who?”

Mr. Edinger steps out into the hall—narrows in on us with a look of admonition.

“Feel free to resume your conversation inside.” He gives a sardonic smile as he tries to usher us into the room with a wave. “I’m sure the rest of the class will be interested in whatever it is you’re speaking about,” he says before disappearing.

“Lured by who or what?” I can’t let it go. I could care less about class, tardy slips, or detention—people are disappearing, being
lured
into the woods and ripped to shreds by monsters the rest of the world doesn’t even know exist.

“Maybe it was the same person who rescued you from the herd of Fems?” He tugs his head to the side as if offering an apology.

“Wes?”

“Wes.”

There’s no way in hell he’s right.     

As suspected, Mr. Edinger is clearly a sadist. He hands out an impossible syllabus that reeks of disaster as far as my GPA is concerned, if, in fact, I have one. Speaking of which, I have no idea where I fall on the educational Richter scale. I’ll have to ask Wes to fill me in on all things scholastic regarding myself.

I stop short of sorting through the ever-growing pile of papers and evict the thought of Wes having something to do with Casper’s disappearance.

Cooper turns around and gives a bleak smile as he hands me a small stack of handouts.

“There’s more? This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Heard you’re from Rycroft.” His lips give a slight curve as he says it.

I don’t remember Wes mentioning that in our introduction. An involuntary smile creeps up at the thought of Cooper Flanders conducting a full-blown investigation on the fictitious Laken Anderson.

“Ephemeral is a walk in the park compared to your old school,” he says.

“Yeah, well, maybe so, but this class isn’t.” I glance down at the mountain amassing in front of me. “And, technically, at my old school, I could finish my homework on the bus in less than fifteen. This is months of endless essays, which, by the way, I suck at.”

Mr. Edinger comes by pushing a cart and flops a bloated, rectangular book on my desk—dark crimson, thick as a brick.

“For your reading pleasure.” He gravels it out. I glance up to thank him and catch him spearing me with his eyes the color of root beer. “I hear you’re drawn to fiction. I had a chance to speak with some of your old teachers. They say you have a real gift with names and dates. Sounds like history will suite you as well.” He lets his words hang in the air like a threat before moving on.

Cooper stares into me as though he were amused by my frantic state of being. “Looks like we found the teacher’s pet.”

“You think this is funny?” I call him out on it. I have a feeling there won’t be a lot of secrets between Cooper and me. At least there better not be. “I’m terrible at this kind of stuff.”

“Sorry.” His voice rasps it out low. “I promise, lit is not the end of the world.” He gives a slow blink. “I’m a black belt at essays. If you want, I can go over them with you—see how they’re shaping up.”

“Thanks.” I try to act unimpressed, but I can feel the heat rising to the apples of my cheeks, giving away the fact my heart is racing at the prospect of spending an inordinate amount of time with him—probably some aftereffect of him saving me from that creature. Obviously my hormones are forever in his debt. I hate not being able to control my body like that. “I think we have more pressing things to discuss than lit.” I lean in, a little miffed. “Like the fact you’ve all but accused Wesley of Casper’s disappearance.”

He hesitates before saying anything, pressing in with a mix of pity and sorrow.

“Laken, how well do you really know Wesley Paxton?”

“I don’t know Wesley Paxton.” I lift my brows amused. “I know Wesley
Parker
.”

“Who’s Wesley Parker?”

“Who’s Wesley Paxton?” I cock my head to the side happy to take control of the conversation, albeit lopsided and psychotic.

He stretches to retrieve more papers, then passes back another four sheets.

“Remember how I warned you not to go into the forest?” His gentle eyes make me want to dive in and swim in their knowledgeable pools for hours.

I give a brief nod as though he were about to tell me something profound.

“Some people are just as dangerous as that forest.” He practically mouths the words.

“And you think Wesley is one of those people?”

He expels a short breath, taking me in—gauging to see if he can trust me with his final answer.

“I know he is.”  

17

Tears for Cheers

I hang out with Wes during nutrition and lunch.

We sit on a bench beneath a Sugar Maple with branches that vault their citrine foliage straight up into the pale expanse—grey as Cooper’s eyes.

I pick up a few stray leaves off the ground and run my fingers over their waxy skins, crushing the brittle ones under my feet to powder as Wes fills me in on this strange new life of mine.

“You never said two words to me all last year.” He looks downright perturbed by the idea.

I want to say it’s because I wasn’t here. I was a figment of his imagination–but don’t. “I dreamt about you every single night,” I whisper. “My days were swallowed alive by the fact we were apart.”

He frowns like he doesn’t believe me, like I must have hit my head pretty hard to think so.

A shadow emerges. It inches its way over in a phantomlike state.

Kresley appears wearing a pair of dark maple riding boots, her uniform rolled up at the sleeves.

“Hey, Wes—
Laken
.” She drags my name out like a curse. “I’ve got some of your things in my room. I thought you might want them back.” She swivels her hips into him. Ironically, to Kresley, seduction is a key ingredient in the break-up ritual.

“I’ll swing by,” Wes says it curt, clearly annoyed by her efforts.

“Or I can give them to Laken for you.” She shrugs. “That might be easier.” Her shoulders hike up to her ears and stay there as she zeros in on me with a cold-filtered hatred.

“That would great,” I say, a little overeager. I’m not opposed to reducing the emotional and physical proximity between the two of them at any given time.

“Perfect, I’ll get them ready for you.” She shakes out her dark curtain of hair and presses her nose into the wind. She might as well be posing for a print ad—she looks that perfect. She leans forward, offering Wes a brief hug and traps my fingers against the bench with her knee, crushing them with a horrible pinch. I retract my fingers like pulling them out of a fire.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her hand flies to her lips with the lie. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Laken.” It comes out a knife-sharp threat.

“I wouldn’t let you.” I meant to say,
I’m sure you wouldn’t
, but the words rearranged themselves in the right order.

She burns me to ashes with her laser-filled venom before stomping off. The dew-covered lawn stains her boots clear to her ankles and I have a feeling she’ll blame me for ruining her shoes like she blames me for stealing Wes.

There are some things you can replace with money and some things you can’t.

I wrap an arm around Wesley and take him in, my dark knight whose life springs eternal alongside my own.

“I’m impressed with the way you handled that.” He gives a sly grin as he pulls in closer.

“I’d rather find other ways to impress you—like this.” I lean in and deliver my own box full of memories by way of a kiss that spans state-lines. It leads us all the way back to open skies and fresh country air.

I can feel his heart beat erratic just beneath mine.

I would say he is most certainly impressed. 

During P.E., the rest of the girls who are being forced to cheer and I are wrangled over to the west end of the field where Jen and another assistant coach huddle over a clipboard. The other girl, a milky blond like Jen but not as ridiculously beautiful, introduces herself as Mars Adams.

Flynn was right. This really is the land of pretentious names and assholes with most people taking residence in both categories.  

Jen and Mars break us up into groups, and Carter and I get thrown in with Jen.

“Don’t you go to Trinity U.?” I ask my newly acquired sibling as she crouches over a set of speakers.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays. In a few years I’ll be running this place—the cheer part of it anyway.” She spikes to her feet. “And you’re going to help.”

“I am?” I find this doubtful. I’m hoping to have escaped my strange incarceration long before I let a couple of years drift by. One thing I’m finding consistent about nuJen—she has an unending supply of rich delusions.

“Yes.” Her eyes augment to the size of tennis balls. “Wouldn’t it be something if you married Wesley and I married Blaine?” She gets that swirly look in her eyes that one can only achieve at a heightened state of fantasy. “We could work together and have families together. Blaine is going to teach here. We could live on campus and never leave Ephemeral.”

Why do I get the feeling Ephemeral and a roach-motel have an awful lot in common?

Personally, I don’t see how all of us shacking up on a campus, that’s overrun with a healthy population of the undead, will be mutually beneficial to either of our prospective families. In fact, if I do end up trapped in this bizarre alternate universe for a long stretch of time, I might be moved to slaughter a few hundred residents myself.

“Look, I’m not really into cheer.” I hate to drop the pom-poms so early on while the shoots of our sisterly bonds are still tender at the root and whatnot, but I don’t see any other way of getting out of voluntarily showing snatches of my underwear to thousands of people armed with telescopic photo equipment on game day. “To me, cheer has always been on par to publicly pantsing yourself in order to build a false sense of community through a glimpse of girls crotches. I mean, it derogates our entire species and sends women’s lib back about a thousand years. I seriously doubt cave women jumped up and down and showed off their sheepskin panties as a display of appreciation for the home team.” On some level, I’m thinking she’ll agree. There has got to be something in her that finds the premise behind the sexual aerobics of it all belittling.